


Not Sentimental, No

by cumberhardhiddlesbitch



Series: The Rhombus 'Verse [12]
Category: British Actor RPF
Genre: F/M, M/M, Male-Female Friendship, Multi, Polyamory
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-09
Updated: 2019-03-09
Packaged: 2019-11-14 03:31:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,978
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18044630
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cumberhardhiddlesbitch/pseuds/cumberhardhiddlesbitch
Summary: In Paris for a job, Shannon runs into her old flame Marc, and they have a pleasant evening catching up.





	Not Sentimental, No

**Author's Note:**

> Tom/Ben and Tom/Shannon are mentioned but not seen in this chapter. Marc is bilingual and speaks English in this chapter in deference to Shannon. The design of the gallery is not based on a real place.

Shannon leaned her arm against the railing, looking down at the crowd gathered in the main part of the gallery. The space had previously, long ago, been a prison, and the small thick-walled cells now held either one or two pieces each, the lobby left open without exhibits, though tonight there was the usual white-draped tables of the caterers. It was a striking set-up, but claustrophobic at times. At the end of the long day, and after two glasses of wine and little food, she was finding it nearly repulsive. 

Repulsive was the word for the work that was getting the most attention, at the moment-- a leather and rubber cushioned mattress, the fold-out component of an ancient sleeper sofa augmented and destroyed in turns until it seemed to ooze its filling and springs maliciously. She had nearly recoiled when she’d first seen in the the artist’s studio, and he’d been only too pleased. Now, in this setting, the worn wooden floors and the harsh brick beside, it was almost too difficult to look at. She knew that given enough time and contemplation she’d be able to say exactly why but she didn’t want to sit with that feeling of corruption and unease. Let it be enough that the people viewing it seemed to understand its intended message, even if they couldn’t articulate it either. She circulated around the rooms of the upper level, making sure that people weren’t stepping into the exhibit spaces with wine or food, though, she had to admit to herself, she would have been hard pressed to tell them off. 

She looked across the mezzanine, her breath catching as she thought she saw a familiar face. The man was half turned away from her, though, could have been anyone, practically, just a certain combination of height and black hair making her think of someone familiar. Then he turned around fully and looked right at her, and she realized she had been right. Marc’s face broke out into a grin and he pointed at her, a broad gesture so unlike him as he mouthed something at her. She didn’t catch it but his intention was obvious - stay put. She rested her hand on the railing as she waited.

He held his arms open as he walked over to her, and she stepped forward, only too willing to let him hug her, though when she’d imagined seeing him again she had always greeted him with a cool elan. She found herself smiling as she wrapped her arms around his back, wine glass held carefully in her hand. He kissed her cheeks as she stepped back and she suffered her usual moment of indecision, only aided by his hand on her elbow, gently pushing her to the other side. She stepped back, slightly dizzy.

“I didn’t expect to see you here,” she said.

“I had thought I might see you,” he said. “But it’s still a pleasant surprise.” He took her nearly empty glass. “Shall we go downstairs?”

“I should probably stop drinking,” she said, ignoring his feigned shock at such a sentiment. “I’m tired this evening.”

“Something else then,” he said, holding out his arm as they approached the stairs. She slipped her arm into his, falling into step with him so easily it was as if they’d never parted. It was a comfort to have him steadying her as she walked in heels down the uneven stone steps. As they entered the main room though one of the gallery owners beckoned to her, a sweeping motion of his arm that was impossible to ignore. “Go over to him,” Marc said softly in her ear. “I’ll come rescue you as soon as is decent.”

Shannon smiled as she walked over to the cluster of people, none of whom she knew save for the owner himself and his wife. He was an older man and a combination of drink and his slight hearing impairment meant that he spoke less distinctly than she would have liked. She struggled to keep up, a headache forming undeniably on the right side of her head. She was carefully answering the question she believed that he’d asked and fearing, based on the blank looks on the other guests’ faces, that she was failing to do so, when she felt Marc’s hand on her elbow. She wrapped up her thought and allowed him to make her apologies for her, missing most of the exchange that took place between him and the owner’s wife.

“What was that?” she asked as they walked away. 

He handed her a glass filled with a bright red liquid. “I was just saying I hated to tear you away from their group but I was anxious to catch up with my old friend. Then Juliette asked after my girlfriend, quite pointedly, I might add.” He laughed.

“Well, how is your girlfriend?” she asked as she took a sip of the drink. It was almost unbearably sweet. “What the hell is this?”

“It’s a Shirley Temple, and she’s doing very well, thank you. She’s in Rome this week, accompanying her son’s school trip.”

Shannon swallowed against the cloying sweetness of the drink. “Well that sounds lovely.” She took another sip as she thought. Usually children didn’t take international trips with their school until their early teens, or later. 

“I can see you practically counting on your fingers,” he chided.

“I’m not!” She took another sip, getting used to it, or nearly.

“She would never forgive me for telling you this, but as I can see you’re wondering, the answer is yes. She is my age.”

“I wasn’t wondering, honestly. I don’t care.” 

“Ok.” He smiled at her, and she felt annoyed at herself, for how happy she was to still be in his good graces. “Do you want to get out of here?”

She couldn’t stop herself rolling her eyes at him.

“I mean, literally, only, getting out of here. You don’t look like that drink is agreeing with you.”

“Probably because I’m not a hummingbird,” she said. His face was carefully blank, willing to let the comment go but she searched her memory for the term, remembering that hummingbirds didn’t actually live in Europe. “I’m not _un colibri_. A little bird that drinks nectar, like a bee.” She rubbed the front of her forehead, the headache having migrated. “Christ I’m tired.”

“Clearly.” He put his arm over her shoulders and plucked the drink from her hand, setting it on a nearby table. “Why don’t we get out out of here, and you can have some real food.” He seemed to swallow the rest of his sentence, but she could imagine it well enough, something along the lines of _you know what you get like when you haven’t eaten or slept well._ There was something oddly comforting about the fact that he knew her well, even at a distance of a couple of years of not speaking, and knew her well enough to remember that she wouldn’t take kindly to him pointing out her obvious foibles.

“Alright. I just have to make sure that I won’t be missed.”

“You already spoke to everyone you needed to speak to. Here.” He cinched his arm around her waist and turned her until they were both facing the group they’d just come from. Marc waved to them, subtly, and Juliette nodded to the both of them. If there was a hint of curiosity in the look that she gave Shannon as they left, so be it.

“Juliette clearly thinks we’re off on some secret assignation,” Shannon said as she let herself be led out into the cooler air.

“Let her. We know what we’re about.” He loosened his arm, then linked his arm through hers, less familiar but still leading her.

“And what would you say that is?” She was pleased to see that he’d parked nearby, the same little yellow Peugeot that she remembered from years past sitting at the curb. 

“To catch up a bit? I haven’t talked to you in two years. It would be nice to talk over a meal. That is all.”

“Alright. Good.” She let herself into the car after he’d unlocked her door.

“The cafes will be a bit rowdy right now,” he said, checking his watch as he buckled in. “I don’t mind, myself. Or we could go back to my flat, but I haven’t got much in. I could make you an omelette.”

“Omelette is fine,” she said. “Toast?”

“Of course.”

Approaching his flat left her feeling an odd sort of excitement, a sort of echo of the happy anticipation she had had when they were dating. The walk to his front door was familiar as well, the scent of the rain soaked patch of flowers by the front door almost making her head spin. For some reason she hadn’t prepared for the possibility of seeing him ever again, let alone on this trip.

There were subtle changes inside the house. The garish and outdated mirror by the front door had been replaced--no, refinished, she realized--taking it from gaudy to a sort of shabby chic that she wouldn’t have ever associated with him. The textiles in the living area had been updated too, a subtle Moroccan theme that wasn’t too matchy. She kicked off her shoes and settled herself on the window seat in the odd angled window over the front door. The living room and kitchen were one irregularly shaped room, but the window seat was the de facto dividing line. Marc was an able cook and the feeling of settling back and letting him take over the kitchen was familiar and pleasant. 

“Do I sense a feminine touch in your decor?” she asked as he rolled up his sleeves and set his utensils on the worktop.

“Did you think I could not redecorate myself?” He looked over his shoulder as he poured a glass of mineral water. He brought it over to her. “This should help your poor head.”

“Thanks.” She sipped at it, hoping he was right. “Do you have any paracetamol?”

“I do.” He left and returned with two tablets which he dropped into her outstretched hand. “And you’re right. Sylvia, my girlfriend, is responsible for the changes in the flat.”

“I thought as much.” She curled up and rested the glass on her knee, making sure that her skirt was covering her. 

“It’s not that I couldn’t, it’s just that I would not.”

“Oh, sure, sure,” she said, humoring him. “Does her son live here as well?” It was hard to imagine Marc’s flat accommodating a teenaged boy, but then again it was hard to imagine his life accommodating one either.

“She doesn’t live here,” he said, pouring the egg mixture into a hot pan. He tested the edges with a spatula before he looked up at her. “She spends a lot of time here when her son is with his father, but she doesn’t live here.”

“Oh. I just thought, because of the decorating,” she said.

“That might be her subtle way of keeping her place obvious while she’s away. We’re not exclusive.”

Fatigue and her lingering headache made disguising her response to that impossible and her head thunked gently against the wall as she leaned back. “That’s very nice. Does she know that you’re not exclusive?”

Rather than take offense he laughed. “She knows very well. It suits her as well. Really, Shannon, what a question.”

“I’m sorry, it’s just the way you said she was trying to keep a foot in by decorating your flat, I just had to wonder if you were keeping this poor woman on the hook or something.”

“Not at all.” He split the omelette between two plates and checked on the bread that was under the broiler, decided to leave it in for a bit longer. “I have never been in the habit of keeping anyone strung along.”

“I know.” She stood up and stretched, bringing her glass to the table. “I wasn’t trying to imply anything. I know you’ve always been very clear in your expectations. It would have been a new and disturbing development.” She sat down as he put the bread on the plates and brought them over.

“Well this is fun, catching up,” he said, only the mischievous smile he gave her softening the sarcasm. “Rather than invent new sins for me why don’t you tell me about your life? Are you still living with those Bohemian lesbians?”

“Your prurient interest in them is really not very gallic,” she said, falling back into old forms of teasing.

“Oh, but it is. We’ve just got you all fooled when the fact is, we’re not very cool at all.”

“Well, no. Sort of. I don’t know.” She sighed. “I still keep a room there but I’m living, the vast majority of the time, with my boyfriend.” 

He nodded but didn’t ask any other questions and they ate in silence for a few moments.

“What is keeping you from making the move completely?” he asked.

“His boyfriend.” She said it as a joke, a way to quickly shock him, get him back for what she suspected was a sort of evil glee at her own perceived prudishness, but the moment the words had left her mouth she felt the truth in them.

“Does he live there as well?” Marc was at least feigning to take the news in stride.

“No, he has his own flat, and I suspect he will always have his own flat. He likes his space. I just haven’t committed to moving in with Tom yet because I’m still not entirely sure that I could share him evenly, so to speak, if I were living there.”

“He could go to his boyfriend’s flat easily enough, couldn’t he?” Marc asked.

“He could, except that he has a child of his own, and he’s somewhat bound to his own flat for that reason.” She pushed the last of her food around on her plate, realizing that she hadn’t given any of this much thought until now.

“So why don’t you stay where you are? I thought you liked living with the lesbians.”

She laughed in spite of herself. “You make it sound so much more exciting than it is. It’s not that easy to have him over, for one thing.”

“Are they mean to him?” Marc leaned forward, all mock concern for this man he hadn’t ever met.

“No.” She considered skirting around the edge of the issue of Tom’s fame, decided that it wasn’t worth it. As much as she still liked Marc, as happy as she was to find herself on friendly, easy terms with him, she had no particular reason to trust him. “It’s more that it’s just time for me to move on.” She smiled to herself a bit as she looked away, took a drink to hide her sudden flush of feeling. It wasn’t even a lie. Even had she been single, she no longer wanted to house share with a couple. She almost laughed at the potential irony of the thought, wishing she could share it with Marc after all.

“Well, that happens, in life,” Marc said, clearly trying to coax her along in her story.

“It does. Maybe I should just get my own flat.” The thought of it, as fatuous as the idea was, filled her with a sudden longing and a vague thought of bright airy space, uncluttered and entirely her own, like an empty studio that would never be filled up.

“Maybe.” He stood and got another bottle of water when he saw that she’d finished her glass, pouring before he sat down. “How did you come to have a boyfriend who has a boyfriend?”

“The usual way.” She drank deeply, her headache finally beginning to abate.

“There’s a usual way for that?”

“Sure. He met me at a show, one of my shows. We got to talking and I decided I liked him. The boyfriend issue was explained to me a bit later.”

“So there is a usual way.” He stacked their plates but stayed at the table.

“What do you mean?”

He kicked her gently, barely tapping her with his foot. “That’s how I met you as well.”

She had intended to place her head gently in her hand but her elbow hit the table hard, her head landing hard in her palm. “Jesus Christ.”

“It’s an odd time for you to find your religion, but alright. We can go to Sacre-Coeur when it gets light, if you like.” He stood and gathered their plates and cutlery off the table.

“I have a usual way,” she said, turning her head in her hand to look at him, following the line of his back as he leaned over the sink for a moment. It was easy enough to remember why she’d kept coming back. “I have actually got a usual way. It’s deja-vu. I didn’t even realize.”

He stood beside her and pushed the hair off the side of her face, looking at her carefully. “It’s only to be expected that you meet people at art events, because you are an artist.”

“Still,” she said, sighing. Tom seemed very far away at the moment, separated more by the fact that she knew he was with Ben than the fact that he was in another country.

“Is it really so similar?” He crouched down next to her, his hand still holding her hair up.

“You seem concerned.”

“I wasn’t so good for you, in the end.” He stood up, letting her hair fall back in her face. She left it there for a moment, hiding. “I could say that we weren’t very good for each other but then I’d just be lying.”

She swept her hair back and looked up. “Yeah. You were fine.”

He shrugged, an admission. “I wouldn’t have liked knowing you were unhappy. That would not have been fine.”

She stood up, feeling the blood pound in her head when she did. “I guess I did you a favor then.”

“I hope you did yourself a favor as well,” he said. “I wasn’t trying to start something.”

She drank her water, thinking about that for a moment before she gathered that he meant he wasn’t trying to start a fight, almost laughed into the glass when she realized her mistake.

“No, fair enough.” She set the empty glass down.

“And you’re happy, with this man?”

She nodded as she rubbed her hand over her face, but now, away from England, she was thinking of how it looked from the outside, how it would look to anyone who knew that she’d broken off her loosely defined relationship with Marc for a chance to find something more permanent. Tom had a boyfriend, a man she didn’t even particularly like, but she loved him in a way that felt more solid than anything she’d ever felt before.

“It will be fine.” She hadn’t realized she said it out loud for a moment.

“You don’t sound entirely sure.” He walked over to the sofa and sat down, leaving her the side that she had always sat on. She paused for a moment, telling herself that she should just get going, but then followed him.

“It’s hard to imagine the future sometimes, given his boyfriend.”

“Do you ever talk about it?”

She shook her head, curling up in the corner of the sofa. “I have to admit we don’t.”

“Does he ever want to have more children? Do you?” The living room area was lit only by the lights from over the table, leaving them in just enough darkness that he could say practically anything. 

“I don’t know,” she whispered, almost angry that he was dragging this out of her, using his privilege as someone she’d known a long time to ask her questions that none of her friends had even dared to ask her. She cleared her throat. “I don’t think so. Sooner or later I’ll have to be sure.”

He was silent for so long she thought he might have fallen asleep.

“Feeling guilty?” she asked.

He laughed, but it was a soft, amused sound, not sharp or mean. “No. I didn’t inveigle you to stay in anything you didn’t want.”

She sighed. “You didn’t.”

He was silent again and she slid closer, trying to see his face more clearly. She lost her balance a bit on the middle cushion, and he reached out, steadying her with an arm around her shoulders. She sighed, warmed by how good that touch felt, and let herself lean towards his chest. She rested her head against his shoulder as he wrapped his other arm around her back, holding her close.

“Your boyfriend has a boyfriend of his own,” Marc said.

“He does.”

“And that boyfriend of your boyfriend, does he have other partners as well?” He brushed a strand of hair off the side of her face, tucking it behind her ear.

“We don’t talk a lot about it, but as far as I know he has some casual partners, nothing permanent or even terribly recurrent. I’ve only met him once, properly, and we’ve crossed paths a couple of times. I have to admit I don’t like him.”

“That could be a problem,” he said. 

“His partners, or the fact that I don’t like him?”

“Both, though I was thinking of the fact that you don’t like him. The issue of his partners, I figure you’ve made your decision about how much risk you’re comfortable with.”

“Tom, my boyfriend, isn’t ever with him without a condom, and he’s certainly never with me without one.”

“At least yourself, you know for sure.” He looked almost sorry to say it.

“I know.” She sighed. “I know it’s a problem that I don’t like him, but I haven’t figured out what to do about that.”

“Do you not like him, as a person, or do you not like him, as your boyfriend’s boyfriend?”

“It’s hard to say, because I’ve only met him a couple of times, and I wasn’t exactly putting my best foot forward.” She sighed deeply, feeling him laugh.

“Do you mean to say you didn’t greet him with an open mind?”

“It’s hard to say whose mind was closed first,” she said. “Our first meeting was a disaster. Both Ben and I were on the verge of leaving London for a while for work, Ben had not seen Tom in some time and he was feeling neglected, I was trying to be cordial and he saw me as an embedded threat. It wasn’t a good combination.”

“Ok. Have you ever tried to meet again at a less fraught time?”

“Tom set us up to meet again, and I was just beastly.” She fell silent as he laughed again. “What, I can be.”

“I know, anyone can, but to hear you describe yourself that way.” He leaned forward and touched the top of her head with his face-- she wasn’t sure if it was an affectionate head-butt or a kiss. “Go on.”

“There’s nothing more to tell. Tom has me and his boyfriend, I have Tom, his boyfriend has Tom and, as far as I can tell, anyone else he might fancy.”

Marc was quiet for a few moments. “Tom must really be something, for you to tolerate all that.”

“He is really something. How I feel about him is really something.” She felt her throat getting thick. “I don’t like to think of it as me tolerating something. When we started, it just was what it was. The thing is, I don’t think Ben is a bad man.” She bit her lip, wondering how serious it was that she had revealed their names, then realized that really, it wasn’t serious at all. No one would ever suspect that she was dating two actors, especially as they weren’t all that well known. 

“Well, that would be bad, if your boyfriend was with a bad man.” He managed to keep the laughter out of his voice.

“You know what I mean,” she said. “I just think we weren’t set up to cooperate with each other at all, and I wasn’t bringing my best self to the table.” She sighed. “I don’t know what I’d rather, that he and I get along, or that I just never have to see him again.”

“Or that Tom leave Ben, and you have Tom all to yourself?” 

She listened closely, trying to determine if he was teasing or really trying to find an answer. 

“I don’t think I’d want that. It would hurt Tom. At least, it would the way things are right now.”

“But he’d get over it, surely?”

“I don’t even want to joke about wishing that on him, just because I don’t particularly get along with Ben. If Ben weren’t all that important to him, he wouldn’t bother trying to be in a relationship with both of us.”

“I see your point. You are truly a kind person.” She felt that same pressure on the top of her head, most definitely a kiss this time. “What about yourself?”

“What about me?”

“Ben has partners other than Tom. Tom has you and Ben. What about you, do you take other partners from time to time?”

“I haven’t though I could,” she said. She closed her eyes, letting herself settle into his chest more fully. “No one has appealed to me. It’s not as though I’m not busy. I’m not pining away when I’m not with Tom.”

“So spend the night with me. If you like.” He shifted his arms as she rolled over to look up at him, letting her gaze trace over the stripes of gray at his temples, broader now than the last time she’d seen him. He didn’t have the obvious strength that Tom did, but he held her without any sign of strain or struggle. 

She thought about it, looking away for a moment, unable to deny even to herself that it would be nice, to spend the night with someone who knew her well, rather than to go back to her hotel alone.

‘It’s late,” she said, thinking aloud.

“When is your flight tomorrow?” he asked.

“Not until eleven. It’s not that,” she trailed off.

“What is it?”

“I’m just not entirely sure I want to. As unconventional as it is for us to take other partners, I feel like I should at the least be entirely sure.”

“Very reasonable.” He stood up, then held out his hand. She rested her hand in his, expecting him to pull her to her feet, but instead he leaned forward, kissing the back of her hand. “It would have been fun, but I’m just as happy to have been able to see you again.”

“Thank you.” She stood up, trying to disguise how tired she was. Had it not been for him liberating her from the show she would have left fairly soon anyway. Having made the trip to his home, she was up much later than she’d planned.

“Would you like to stay here all the same?” he asked.

“I don’t know that that’s such a good idea,” she said, thinking of how she’d explain to Tom that yes, she’d slept in his bed, but not with him, really.

“I can fold out the sofa for you. It’s quite comfortable.” 

“That would be wonderful.” She tried to stifle a yawn. “Could you bring me to my hotel in the morning, so I can get my things?”

“Of course. And if you don’t mind being early, I can bring you to the airport as well.”

“Fantastic.” She smiled at him, her heart full of goodwill towards him, and a tiny bit of regret too - sex with him would have been fun, but more than that she only wanted to return to Tom. 

In the bathroom she washed her face and swished some mouthwash around, then pulled her bra off and folded it small in her hands as she walked back out to the living room.

Marc had already turned down the linens when she came out to the living room. She stashed her bra under the pillow, then turned to see him walking out of his bedroom, a t-shirt and pair of gym shorts in his hands.

“Did you set your alarm?” he asked.

“I was about to.”

“If we leave at eight we will have time to have breakfast together as well,” he said as he handed her the clothes. 

She suddenly remembered the last time she’d gone to a cafe in Paris for breakfast, her mouth nearly watering as she thought of the fresh bread. “My hotel is in the 8th,” she said. 

“And I can guess where you want to go,” he said. “Marielle?”

“Yes.” She smiled at him, the unique feeling of being in the company of someone who knew her well buoying her even as she felt ready for sleep.

“It will be nice to catch up some more. For now, sleep well.” He rested his hand on her shoulder as he leaned over to kiss her cheek. When the door to his room clicked shut she quickly changed into the softer clothes, curling up on the mattress and pulling the blankets over her shoulders. She was already falling asleep when she remembered to set her alarm. As she set the phone down she paused, double checking to see that there was no new text from Tom. She glanced at the most recent text, a short note wishing her good luck on the show, then set the phone aside, surprised to find herself actually happy that he hadn’t interrupted his time with Ben to text her. She fell asleep quickly, totally at ease in a place she knew well and looking forward to the next day.


End file.
